


They Aren't Spies

by BiggHoggDogg



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eventual Romance, F/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-01-02 16:08:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21164396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BiggHoggDogg/pseuds/BiggHoggDogg
Summary: SUMMARY: Claude von Reigan hears of the upcoming wedding between Hubert von Vestra and Byleth, daughter of Lady Rhea, and realizes all at once that there’s more going on here than meets the eye and he has absolutely NO idea what that could be.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Til Your Death Do Us Part](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20959337) by [Pleasant_Boy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pleasant_Boy/pseuds/Pleasant_Boy). 

> This chapter takes place three weeks before the beginning of Pleasant_Boy's "Til Your Death Do Us Part". It's an amazing fic and after reading it I found myself getting a lot of ideas for a sort of companion work focused on what the Alliance cast might be getting up to at the same time. Pleasant_Boy was gracious enough to give me permission to ride their apron strings - go read their fic first!
> 
> I don't have a hard and fast update schedule but I'm gonna SHOOT for a new chapter every 2 weeks.

Salt-scented sea air danced through the open window of Claude von Reigan’s study, tickling his hair and rustling the richly-ornamented sheet of vellum he had been staring at for the past ten minutes. It seemed to Claude that the breeze was tempting him, trying to lure him outside for a mid-afternoon nap on the beach of one of Derdriu’s many secluded coves. 

He shook his head dolefully. “Not today, I’m afraid,” he said, rising to shut the window. As he was bolting the latch, the door of the study swung open and Lorenz Hellman Gloucester bustled through. Right on time, mused Claude.

“What’s this I hear about a special envoy from the Empire?” Lorenz was in a huff, as though personally offended that he hadn’t been afforded the chance to read Claude’s mail before it reached his desk.

It seemed to Claude that the Gloucester heir MIGHT have followed that up with a “my lord”, or possibly a “sir”, or even “Claude”. But Lorenz simply wouldn’t be Lorenz without barely-disguised hostility towards Claude and all he represented. Rather than admonish him, Claude merely gestured towards his desk and the vellum thereon.

“Not so much an envoy as a mailman, I’m afraid - go ahead, give it a read,” Claude drawled. “I was hoping you might stop by, actually. I could use your insight.”

Lorenz sniffed and strode to the table to greedily devour the sensitive correspondence. Claude smiled to himself. There had never been any question of Lorenz NOT “stopping by”, of course. No team of Adrestian spymasters could ever have mounted so meticulous a surveillance as Lorenz did of Claude’s every waking moment. It was an open secret that Lorenz had been sent to Derdriu by his father (the extant Lord Gloucester) not for the purpose of “overseeing Gloucester holdings” but to scrutinize every aspect of the Leicester Alliance leader’s existence for exploitable weaknesses. Claude supposed that a different ruler might have taken umbrage at this, perhaps even taken punitive action, but the simple fact was that Claude found Lorenz’s artless, blustering invasions rather endearing.

“This is a JOKE.” Lorenz’s exclamation jolted Claude out of his reverie. “Claude, you DID check this ‘envoy’s credentials, I hope?”

“It’s not a prank, Lorenz. Check the seal. Eagle, two heads, the works.” Claude moved over to his liquor cabinet as he spoke. After a moment’s deliberation, he selected a bottle of Daphnell brandy and sloshed a generous portion into two glasses.

“But… but this is PREPOSTEROUS.” Lorenz’s aquiline features were screwed up in confusion. “Hubert von Vestra and-!”

“-and Lady Rhea’s only begotten daughter, correct. After decades - well, centuries, I suppose - of feuds and bickering, suddenly the Emperor’s sinister left hand and the Church’s shining scion are joining hands and houses in front of Sothis and everybody.” Claude took a sip of his brandy, holding out the other glass for Lorenz to take.

Lorenz accepted the proffered glass, still staring into the middle distance. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

Claude nodded. “It DOESN’T make any sense.”

“What doesn’t make any sense?” The door to Claude’s office banged open and in flounced Hilda Valentine Goneril, already stripping off her riding gloves and jacket & tossing them on a nearby chair before collapsing into it herself. “Oh, Lorenz! You beat me here. Did you sprint or something?”

“He WAS a little red in the face when he arrived, now that you mention it.” Claude scooped up the brandy bottle and letter and handed them both to Hilda with a warm smile. Hilda’s arrival came as no surprise to Claude either - if your best friend can’t stick her shapely nose into your business, who can?

Lorenz pursed his lips in clear distaste. “I didn’t RUN, Hilda. A noble should NEVER be forced to undue haste unless- er, should I get you a glass?”

Hilda shook her head as she took another pull at the brandy bottle & swallowed, barely grimacing. “Nope! Now let me read, would you?”

Lorenz sipped his own drink and shuddered. “Phew! If you can SEE in five minutes I’ll be impressed. Claude, we need to muster our forces.”

Claude arched an eyebrow. “I don’t follow.”

“To bolster our southern borders! The Church of Seiros and the Empire are CLEARLY moving towards an alliance with this marriage. With the threat of the Church effectively neutralized, the Leicester Alliance would present too ripe a target to pass up! We MUST be prepared for an invasion.”

“That’d be a funny way to respond to a wedding announcement, don’t you think?”

“I’m not suggesting we line the Airmid with ballistae.” Lorenz paused. “Yet. But a PRUDENT leader would surely see the benefit of fortifying our southern territory!”

“You keep saying ‘southern territory’ like you’re afraid he’s going to find out that it’s Gloucester land,” Hilda chimed in without taking her eyes from the letter. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you wanted my brother to raise you and your daddy an army and then just hand it over.”

Lorenz sputtered. “Why, I- surely Lord Holst would agree-!”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’d be the last person to judge someone for trying to get others to do their work for them.” Hilda took another pull at the bottle. “It makes me feel like I’m a positive influence, y’know? But you’re wrong. Holst wouldn’t panic like you’re doing.”

Lorenz seemed like he would fire back, but Claude decided to interject. “You’re done reading, then?”

Hilda gave a small nod. “Yup! You know - they might actually be in love.”

Claude frowned. “I considered that and dismissed it after about five seconds. Come on, Hilda, this is Hubert von Vestra we’re talking about! If the man even HAS a heart, he keeps it in a jar somewhere. I just don’t see him going all weak-kneed for some doe-eyed bishop’s daughter.”

“I don’t know about that. Have you met her?”

“Byleth? Only in passing during a trip to Garreg Mach. Doesn’t have her mother’s presence, that’s for sure.”

Hilda smiled. “I was on that trip too, remember? I got seated next to her at dinner one night and we got to talking. She’s quiet, but there’s an INTENSITY about her.”

Claude paused, running his fingers through his tousled brown hair and frowning. “So she’s intense. So what?”

“I mean… ugh, it’s so hard trying to explain these things with words.” She sighed and tossed the proclamation aside. “I’ll just show you. Lorenz, help me out here.”

The Gloucester heir cocked his head and leaned against Claude’s desk. “Help you? I’m as confused as our dear leader, I’m afraid.”

“Don’t worry about that. Just tell me what you think.”

Those were the magic words, thought Claude. No force in this world or the next could stop Lorenz from giving voice to his opinion at the slightest provocation, much less a direct invitation.

Lorenz did not disappoint. “Well! What I THINK is that whether they’re in love or not has no BEARING on-” 

As Lorenz talked, Hilda had risen from her seat. Her usual expression of slightly mocking cheerfulness had been replaced by one of half-lidded focus, directed entirely at Lorenz.

“-no BEARING on our decision to raise an army - or several - and strengthen our southern border! Now, it’s true-”

Hilda was walking towards Lorenz now, fingers loosely wrapped around the neck of the brandy bottle that now dangled at her side. Her eyes hadn’t left Lorenz, nor had her expression changed.

“-it’s true that, ah, the mustered forces will be under Gloucester supervision, yes-”

Hilda had crossed the distance between her and Lorenz and had slid next to him on Claude’s desk. Claude found his gaze inextricably drawn to the way her pale pink hair framed her face before tumbling down to her chest. Hilda still held Lorenz in her gaze, seeming to devour him with her eyes.

“-yes, um, that would be the case, but, well-”

Hilda raised the brandy bottle to her lips now, just enough to leave them wet. Keeping her eyes on Lorenz, she reached out with the bottle to fill his glass, leaning close enough that her shoulder brushed his. Claude felt prickles of sweat forming under his collar.

“-well, ah, well- can I HELP you??”

Lorenz had finally had enough. Hilda held his gaze a moment longer, then suddenly pulled away, merry smile returned to her face.

“There! Like that!”

Claude released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Intensity. Right.” 

“I guess I have to bow to your experience,” he said over Lorenz’s inarticulate sputtering, as Hilda rose and curtseyed. “But! Lorenz has a point. If they ARE in love, that’s not necessarily any better for us. Sothis knows the Alliance and the Church don’t have much love lost between them, after all.

“The fact remains that we simply don’t know enough. We don’t know ANYTHING. Call me a coward if you want, but I feel like we should know SOMETHING before raising armies about it.”

Lorenz had managed to rally, heroically. “Surely we have spies in the Empire?”

Claude grimaced. “Nobody close to the Emperor or her inner circle. Lord von Vestra has been very… efficient in that regard. And the wedding’s in three weeks - no time to insert anybody new.”

Lorenz somehow managed to convey via facial expression alone that, were HE the leader of the Alliance, he SURELY never would have allowed such a lapse in intelligence to occur. “What a pity we can’t simply ask them what they intend.”

Claude was silent a moment. “No… we can’t… but maybe…? Hm. Hmmmm.”

Hilda laughed and walked over to rap her knuckles against Claude’s skull. “What’s cooking in there, fearless leader?”

“Yeow!” Claude rubbed rubbed his head reproachfully. “Look - think about cards. What happens when you get dealt a lousy hand?”

Lorenz shrugged. “You fold. Cut your losses.”

Claude shook his head and grinned. “You BLUFF.” He downed the rest of his glass. “Now shoo, both of you. I have letters to write.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude attempts to recruit Lysithea into a scheme. A hedge suffers.

\- Two weeks to the wedding -

Lysithea von Ordelia was not known for her sunny demeanor, but her mood as she was ushered into the House Riegan ornamental gardens could only be described as “apocalyptic”. The presumptive nature of Claude’s summons, being forced to abandon several experiments just as they promised to bear fruit, the hurried carriage ride across rocky roads - all of this had dragged themselves across the grain of Lysithea’s famously lacking self-control like so much sandpaper.

And now, instead of receiving her PROPERLY, like an actual LORD might, the jumped-up little nuisance had instead had her brought to his RIDICULOUS-

No. No. Lysithea took several deep, steadying breaths. Calm down. Calm DOWN. You are a LADY, not a child. You will NOT throw a tantrum. There. Better.

Looking around, she realized that in her frustrated musings she had missed something: Claude von Riegan was nowhere to be seen. She stood on manicured grass amidst blooming flowers, tumbling vines, and all manner of greenery as gentle morning sun cascaded between the gaps in fluffy white clouds. Then, she heard it-

Music… a harp?

It didn’t take her long to discover the source of the music. At the center of the expansive gardens loomed a large hedge maze, its walls looming more than twice her height. From somewhere within the maze the delicate music wafted through the fragrant garden air.

The music was gentle and calm. Lysithea was neither. “Claude. It’s me. Where. Are. You.”

The harp barely faltered before resuming. “Lysithea! I’m in the maze!”

Lysithea gritted her teeth. Calm. CALM. “I figured. That out.”

“You're off to a great start, then!”

Lysithea pinched the bridge of her nose so hard it made her eyes water. “Claude. I have traveled over two hundred miles in a little less than two days. I have had three hours of sleep. I am here at your _express order_.”

“You're talking a lot for someone with a maze to navigate!”

She felt something white-hot and too-familiar bubbling in her like bile. "_Claude_. I'm not-"

“No hints! You have to come fiiiiiiiind meeeeeee~” Claude’s voice had turned singsong, and the harp resumed.

...

Calm.

CALM.

_choomph_

Where once there stood an imposing wall of densely-grown hedge there was now a roughly-circular hole, its edges black and smoking. Beyond it, another similar hole. And beyond that, another. This continued for some ways.

Lysithea lowered her finger, feeling the strands of her pale lavender hair come to rest against her back from where they had been furiously floating moments before. She noted that the harp had stopped. She swallowed and stepped through the fire hole, blackened grass crunching under her feet. Time to find out if she had just committed treason.

She hadn’t. As she stepped through the last of the smouldering holes into what she presumed to be the center of the maze, she turned to her right and was greeted by the sight of a pair of cushioned divans, between which was a small table bearing a range of refreshments. Claude von Riegan reclined on one divan in a yellow silk robe, having just finished pouring out two glasses of iced tea. Looking up & seeing her arrival, he smiled widely and gave her a cheery wave.

“Hiya, ‘sithea! You made good time!”

Lysithea scowled at him & felt herself blushing in embarrassment, which only deepened her scowl. “You… you IDIOT! I could have INCINERATED you!!!”

“Aw, don’t feel bad! You’ll get me next time. Now are you going to sit down or what?” He gestured lazily to the unoccupied divan.

Lysithea felt some of the anger and shame bleed away at this. There was simply no winning with Claude when he was in an ‘indolent lordling’ mood. It was like punching at fog. Shoulders slumping a bit, she stalked over and collapsed into the divan with bad grace. She scooped up the glass of tea and took a gulp, discovering to her moderate annoyance that it was quite good.

Claude flashed her another smile. “Help yourself to the macarons, they’re fresh this morning. The pale ones are vanilla, the brown ones are coffee, the purple ones are blueberry, and the pink ones are either lychee or grapefruit, I forget.” He pushed the tray bearing the cookies towards her. “I’m going to talk a bit.”

“As if you do ever do anything else,” muttered Lysithea as she selected a pink macaron. It was a petty dig, but she was in no mood to be diplomatic. She bit into the cookie, finding it exquisite; a crunchy outside, a chewy inside, and a dollop of fruit-flavored filling within (lychee, as it turned out).

“First of all, my apologies for the… antics. I wanted to speak with you somewhere private, and I saw the opportunity for a bit of a test.” He turned to Lysithea. “You passed, by the way.”

Lysithea paused with her second macaron (vanilla) halfway to her mouth. “I don’t understand.”

“We weren’t too close when were both at the Officer’s Academy, but I knew you by reputation. Driven. Works twice as hard as anyone else, and then some. Brilliant with magic, could even teach old Hanneman a thing or two. Hair-trigger temper, but cute enough that you’d still be tempted to risk it.”

Lysithea colored, choosing to remain silent and sip her drink.

“I’m ashamed to say that I’ve yet to have an opportunity to really see you in action since you took the reins of House Ordelia. Oh, I’ve enjoyed working with you on the council, of course, but there’s action and then there’s ACTION, y’know?”

Lysithea continued to say nothing. It seemed safest.

“Now, strangely enough, when it comes to how you conduct House Ordelia’s internal affairs, we get a different picture - a different Lysithea. Gossip says you like to tinker with magic, but by all accounts it’s as though you’re simply tying up loose ends. Running down the clock. Business as usual. So, I have to ask myself - was that all-fire reputation just a lot of hot air? A convenient fiction for chasing off stuffed-shirt suitors at the Academy? Is Lysithea von Ordelia really just a pampered little princess, content to fritter away what remains of her inheritance?”

Lysithea’s face revealed nothing. It had been some time since she had touched her iced tea.

“Would Lysithea von Ordelia swallow her pride and wander through a maze to satisfy some pompous little upstart’s whim and keep the peace? Or would she lose her patience and singe the stubble off his chin, and to hell with propriety? I had to know. So… antics.”

Lysithea sighed. “And here we are.”

Claude laughed, joyously. “Here we are! You’ve got wonderful aim, by the way. Don’t feel bad about the maze, it’ll give the gardeners something to complain about.”

“That’s good.” Lysithea nibbled absently at her fourth macaron (blueberry). “But WHY? Why is it so important that I’m the sort of person who’d rather burn a hole through a hedge than walk around? Why am I even HERE, Claude?”

Claude was silent for a few moments before answering. “What I’m about to tell you doesn’t leave this slightly-destroyed hedge maze.” He turned his head to Lysithea, who rolled her eyes and nodded. “Hubert von Vestra. You know him, I assume.”

“The Emperor’s Pale Left Hand, sure. What about him?”

“He’s getting married in a fortnight. To Lady Rhea’s daughter.”

“That’s… surprising. And maybe a little worrisome.” And not really my problem, Lysithea added soundlessly.

“Right. Here’s the thing. Maybe this means the Empire and the Church are making nice. Maybe Hubert and Byleth are really, truly in love. We don’t KNOW. The Alliance has no intelligence within Enbarr. None.

“What we DO have is an official engraved invitation to send an official delegation to observe the ceremony. Purely a formality, but…”

Lysithea pinched the bridge of her nose. “Claude. PLEASE tell me you’re not suggesting-”

“No, no, no.” Claude waved his hand, cutting her off. “I’d never DREAM of asking you to be our spy. It’d be terrible manners, and what’s more, you’d be terrible at it. THAT’S what I’m asking you, actually.”

Lysithea blinked. “I don’t… what?”

Claude swung himself into a sitting position, facing Lysithea and steepling his fingers. “I need you to go to Enbarr, observe the marriage, and then stick around afterwards. All while NOT being a spy. Attend no clandestine meetings. Infiltrate no secure locations. Above all, do not break a SINGLE coded communication. Just go, be yourself, and return alive.”

“This is a very weird way of asking me to just go and watch a wedding, Claude.”

“I know, but these are weird circumstances we find ourselves in. Look: sending spies is the OBVIOUS move, right? And this wedding is like the cheese on a mousetrap - anyone we send is going to be under constant scrutiny by Adrestian counter-intelligence. So I’m turning this over in my brain, trying to puzzle through, and it hits me - why bother sending spies at all? Why not set a little mousetrap of our own?

“They’re EXPECTING spies. They know how to HANDLE spies. What they AREN’T expecting, what they CAN’T handle, is the deadliest sorceress in all Fódlan (plus retinue), just minding her business. They’ll slip up, trying to catch YOU slipping up. They’ll reveal something, ANYTHING. That’s all we need, just the slightest scrap! So… can I count on you?”

Lysithea was a bit taken aback. This was the most impassioned speech she’d heard out of Claude von Reigan in years. She sipped her drink, which had grown watery in the sun. “I have questions.”

Claude swivelled elegantly back into a reclining position. “Shoot.”

“What’s in it for me?”

He grinned like a wolf. “I wish the rest of the council shared your gift for getting to the point. Let me be similarly blunt: in my father’s time, House Ordelia suffered more than its fair share of misfortune. I’m hazy on the details, but I know you lost a healthy chunk of your territory to Goneril, Gloucester, and Edmund, at cutthroat rates. Do this for me, and I’ll flex the Riegan muscle and return all of it.”

The breath caught in Lysithea’s throat. She remembered how tired and frail her father had looked, signing away the family hunting lodge. How he’d wept and stroked her hair. “All of it?”

“By legitimate sale, favors, legal trickery, or outright violence, I swear it. Any other questions?”

Lysithea took a moment. “You said… that I’m to remain in Enbarr for some time after the ceremony. How? The invitation is only for us to observe the marriage and then clear out.”

Claude laughed and hopped to his feet. “That’s my favorite part! You’ll be waiting for our official gift to be completed.” He leaned down and offered Lysithea his hand. “Come with me. I’ll show you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eagle-eyed readers will spot that I tweaked the time-to-wedding in the last chapter in order to allow for Lysithea's travel time to Derdriu. FE3H tends to play Calvinball with how long it takes to move vast distances and I fully intend to do the same but I figured I'd give my squad of dipshits a little more breathing room in their schedule
> 
> UPDATE: I added a few lines before Lysithea loses her cool because I felt like she needed more time to simmer before hitting her boiling point


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude shows off how clever he is, to the various delight and dismay of an audience. The macarons continue to take heavy casualties.

The most infuriating thing about Claude von Riegan, thought Lysithea as they ambled across the Riegan estate grounds, was how hard it was to remain furious with him. It wasn’t just that he cut a disarming figure - silk robe fluttering in the breeze, platter of macarons in one hand, harp in the other - the man was also an endless font of unbothered, infectious chatter. Words swirled and danced about him like butterflies.

“The way I see it,” said Claude breezily as they rounded a patch of stag-shaped topiary, “the Empire is sort of like that rich uncle who’s IMPOSSIBLE to shop for, right? Whatever they want, they’ll just take for themselves. So you’ve got to offer them something they haven’t even CONSIDERED wanting.”

Lysithea gave this some thought. “That seems… dangerous.”

Claude shot her a twinkling grin. “No fair getting ahead of me! You’re supposed to ask ‘whatever could that be?’ and then be terribly impressed by how clever I am.”

Lysithea snorted. “Don’t count on it. But go ahead, I’ll give you a chance.”

“Lord von Vestra is famously homely and contemptuous of self-regard. Byleth is notoriously withdrawn and conspicuously absent at a great majority of courtly functions. Neither has ever sat for any manner of official portrait. However, an event as grand, as auspicious, as UNPRECEDENTED as this wedding DEMANDS immortality. And so, as a token of our overflowing fondness for our puissant neighbors to the south, we offer…?” He gestured to Lysithea expectantly.

“A painting?”

“Better! A PAINTER. One of the finest we have to offer, sent to observe the wedding in company of Lady Lysithea, who shall present the finished work officially on behalf of the entire Alliance.”

She chewed her lower lip and thought it over. “As far as thrown-together cover stories go, it’s passable. I’m surprised you were able to enlist a civilian painter on such short notice.”

“Ah, that’s the REALLY clever part. Come on, you’ll love this.”

They entered a plainly-appointed dining hall - a place for the guards and help to eat, Lysithea fancied. Stag banners adorned the walls, and a long oaken table dominated much of the room (it could easily seat sixty, she mused. How many hands kept the Riegan home in its permanent state of effortless decadence?) 

At the end of this huge table sat a man so immense that the furnishings looked child-sized by comparison. He had been gnawing on a turkey leg, but as the two nobles entered he loomed to his feet to greet them with an enormous bow. Lysithea goggled at the size of him - he looked like could easily pick her up between thumb and forefinger. His MUSCLES had muscles. Looking up at him, she half-expected to see a ring of clouds circling his bushy blonde hair and gleaming grin.

Claude chuckled. “Makes a hell of a first impression, doesn’t he?” He patted the large man’s huge shoulder affectionately with his free hand. “Allow me to introduce Raphael Kirsten - half of my personal security force. Raph, may I present the Lady Lysithea von Ordelia.”

Lysithea remembered herself just in time, offering her hand for Raphael to take. The giant bent smoothly, touching the back of her hand to his forehead. “A pleasure, Sir Kirsten.”

He laughed as he straightened (the force of the sound made her bones shake.) “Sir! Not yet, my lady - just Raphael will do, thank you.”

“Is that so?” Lysithea shot Claude a quizzical glance, but he merely grinned.

“Where’s your other half, Raph? I thought I told both of you to meet us here.”

There was a cough from behind them. Lysithea turned to see a short, thin man wearing large spectacles standing apologetically at attention in the shadows next to the door they had just entered through.

“Here, my lord. And my lady. Sorry.”

Claude cocked his head. “Ignatz, is that you? Why didn’t you say anything?”

The man who seemed to have the misfortune of being Ignatz quailed. “I, um, didn’t want to seem presumptuous, my lord. And I thought, well, ‘what if he just wants to introduce Raphael and move along?’ I supposed that, well, if you WANTED to introduce me, you, um, would. And you did. So… thank? You?” He appeared to have broken out in a sweat.

The usually-effortless smile on Claude’s face showed signs of strain, but he rallied. “Lysithea, I present you Ignatz Victor, the other half of that security detail I mentioned. You’ll have to forgive him - his talents lie outside the realm of public speech. Ignatz - your respects?”

“Oh!! Yes!! Sorry, my lord!” Ignatz bustled forward with surprising speed - Lysithea barely had time to extend her hand. As he emerged from the shadows, she saw that atop his head was a tangle of badly-cut moss-green hair (a little bit of the goddess in this one, hm?) After pressing his forehead to her hand - leaving it noticeably damp - he retreated backwards into the shadow again, as if maintaining a safe distance.

“Not a ‘sir’ either, then? And no ‘von’ between them, I notice,” Lysithea remarked as she discreetly wiped her hand dry on her dress.

“See, it’s that kind of sharp attention to detail that makes you such a perfect fit for this mission!” Claude laughed. “No, neither of them are knights, and neither of them are nobles. Proud merchant’s sons, the pair. But don’t let that-”

He was interrupted as a pinkish blur came hurtling around through the door, severely startling Ignatz.

“Did I miss it???” Hilda was panting, strands of perfect pink hair tumbling down her face and getting caught in her mouth.

“M-miss wha-?” Claude was clearly caught wrongfooted.

“The party trick!” Hilda was sweeping her hair back into place as she regained both breath and composure. “You KNOW I love the party trick!! Oh, ‘sithea! Hi there!” She gave Lysithea a cheery smile and wave over Claude’s shoulder. Lysithea returned the wave with a smile that was genuine - Claude might be easy to like, but it was equally enjoyable seeing him put off his rhythm, and nobody did that better than Hilda.

Once again, with some difficulty, Claude rallied. “How in the WORLD did you find out- no, no, never mind, I know better than to ask. No, we haven’t done the party trick yet. I was GOING to, you know, work it SMOOTHLY into the-”

“Oh, that’s GREAT! Don’t mind me then, I’m just going to sit and watch.” And with that, Hilda flounced past Claude to sit on the table facing the rest of the group (after snatching a macaron from the tray in Claude’s hands.)

Claude gave a dramatic sigh and handed the tray to Raphael, scooping up five cookies. “Fine! Boys, get ready for the party trick. Lysithea, why don’t you have a seat over there with Hilda.” Lysithea did as she was bade (taking a moment to enjoy Hilda’s scent of sweat and roses.) 

“Y-yes, milord!” Ignatz saluted and turned quickly, busying himself with something Lysithea could make out from where she was sitting.

Hilda tapped her shoulder then, making her start slightly. “So did Claude tell you the plan?”

Lysithea snorted. “Plan? That’s pretty generous.”

Hilda giggled. “Sounds like he did! How’re you feeling about it?”

Lysithea looked down at her hands, lacing her fingers together. “I… I don’t know. I mean, that’s the point, isn’t it? None of us know anything. But SOMETHING’S happening out there in the big bad Empire and the only thing Lord Riegan can think to do is yank me from my studies and send me to fumble through court intrigues at a WEDDING, of all things, in the VAGUE hope that I’ll stumble upon ANYTHING that could help the Alliance! And, MAYBE someone’s going to try to kill me.” She realized she had begun to knot her laced fingers together, painfully. “That’s, um. How I’m feeling.”

Hilda sighed and took Lysithea’s hand, placing it between both of hers. “Oh, dear… trust me, I KNOW it’s hard. It’s a different battlefield, you know? They don’t have a class for these kinds of situations at Garreg Mach.” She paused for a moment, thinking. “Maybe they SHOULD. But if they did, you know who would have scored top marks? Claude von Reigan.” Her hands tightened around Lysithea’s. “He’s been playing these games since he was old enough to walk. Outsmarting someone stronger and meaner than him is bread and water to our comely young leader - the other Alliance lords don’t like to admit it, but he’s subtler and shrewder than any ten of them and they’d be at each other’s throats in a week if he weren’t at the helm.”

Lysithea smiled. “You think a lot of him.”

Hilda laughed. “Oh, don’t get me wrong. He’s an idiot. But he’s a beautiful idiot with an uncommon gift for schemes that make all the right people VERY angry and confused. So if he thinks that sending you into Enbarr to stir things up is the right call, then… it probably is?” She pursed her lips. “That, or he thinks it’ll be really funny. Maybe both!” 

Lysithea stared at her. Hilda smiled her perfect smile.

Ignatz had finished his preparations. As he turned, Lysithea saw that he had strung a bow (short and curved - a horsebow? She had never been completely sure of the distinction) and slung a small quiver of arrows around his neck. “R-ready! Sir!”

Claude beamed. “Fantastic. And now, ladies…” He dipped into a deep bow. “...the party trick.”

Straightening, he began to juggle the five macarons he had claimed from the platter before handing it to Raphael. The colorful cookies floated through the air gracefully under Claude’s expert care, his delicate fingers never faltering. Lysithea sighed and fought the urge to roll her eyes. Another chance for the Riegan lordling to show off, after all.

But it was not to be. Claude had been keeping all five macarons in the air effortlessly, but suddenly-

_ssssthwip_

Something blurred through the air smashing a macaron mid-flight and narrowly missing Claude’s head. Lysithea quickly spotted the source of the blur - Ignatz, already reaching for another arrow.

The pattern repeated - Claude not missing a beat as the number of cookies he juggled dwindled from four to three, and then from three to two, and then Claude was left simply tossing a single macaron into the air over and over.

Impressive, Lysithea mused. Ignatz might have been a bit of a wet dishrag, but his movements with the horsebow had been fluid and without hesitation. Still, it didn’t explain why this “party trick” demanded all three-

As if in response to her unspoken question, Ignatz drew back his final shot - aimed directly at the heart of his liege lord, who was still tossing the macaron up and down.

Lysithea held her breath. Ignatz loosed his shot. The macaron fell.

And exploded.

And Claude-

-was unharmed?

Ignatz’s arrow quivered an inch from his face, the arrowhead sticky with filling. Its shaft was gripped firmly between Raphael Kirsten’s thumb and forefinger.

Lysithea’s breath left her. There couldn’t have been more than thirty feet between Claude and Ignatz, and yet-!

Raphael brought the arrowhead to his mouth, tongue flicking out to taste. “Hey! When did they start making these things in BLUEBERRY!?”

Claude turned to Hilda and Lysithea and gave an extravagant bow. “Party. Trick.”

Hilda was applauding furiously. Lysithea found herself still gawking.

Claude straightened and brushed cookie crumbs off his chest. “Now that that’s out of the way - to business! Lysithea, MY personal security detail is now YOUR personal security detail. I trust you’ll go easy on them in your travels. I’ll want them back.”

Lysithea recovered somewhat after the theatrics. “They seem very… fast. Fast and… good? I’m sorry, Claude, but what does it have to do with this ‘official gift’ you mentioned?”

“Ah!” Claude clapped his hands together. “That’s my favorite part! Ignatz, you brought it, didn’t you?”

Ignatz looked sick. “I… I did, my lord. At your express & very specific command.”

“Well, come on, bring it here into the light so we can have a look!”

“Yes, my lord.” Ignatz retrieved a tightly-wrapped rectangular bundle from where he had been standing in the shadows and brought it over to Claude. “I’d just like to say, my lord, that it’s not completely finished, and I’ve been rethinking some of the colors, and-”

“Ignatz, if you don’t unwrap that thing and show it to Lady Lysithea within the next thirty seconds, I promise that I’ll have you put to a slow death.”

“Understood, my lord.” The bundle was hastily unwrapped and proffered to Lysithea.

It was a portrait of Judith von Daphnel, Claude’s aunt and perhaps the second-most decorated military officer in the Alliance after Holst von Goneril. It was a remarkable likeness, to be sure - in the portrait, Judith was standing by a window, the setting sun casting orange-red rays against her face. Her expression was fierce, to be expected of such a ferocious warrior, but in that fierceness Lysithea could spot a desperation, a furious desire to cling to what was left. In the portraits eyes Lysithea could see intermingled both the measured dispassion of a predator and the quivering panic of prey. Lysithea wasn’t sure how long she spent examining the painting.

“How… who was it that painted this?” She asked, looking up at last.

Claude simply jerked a thumb towards Ignatz, who had been engaged in a detailed study of his own feet ever since Lysithea had been handed the portrait.

“This is… I’m no artist, but this is phenomenal. Did he really-?”

Claude had sat down next to Lysithea as she had studied the painting. “When I entered Garreg Mach, I came there pretty full of myself. Most nobles do, I think - nobles need to be humbled if they’re going to be any good at being nobles, after all. And fuck ME, did I ever get humbled.”

He gestured to Raphael. “You wouldn’t have been aware of this, but big man over there? Undefeated in the tournaments three years straight. Three YEARS. Not months, YEARS. I faced him five times on the training grounds, and it didn’t matter WHAT I came with, he made me look like a newborn waving a toy sword. There was even a rumor that he blacked Jeritza’s eye in a private bout.”

Claude, Lysithea, and Hilda all stared at Raphael after hearing this. Raphael rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. “Sorry, m’lord. We promised not to talk about it either way.”

Claude gave Lysithe a significant look.

“Obviously, I couldn’t let this kind of talent pass me by. So once we’re both free of Garreg Mach I find him and I offer him a juicy position in my household. And what’s he say?”

Raphael piped up. “Not without Ignatz.”

Claude slapped his hands together. “Not without Ignatz! Turns out, the two were best friends from childhood. Well, fine, I say - a bit of dead weight is an easy price to pay for a prize so fine, I think. And it turns out, my risky little side bet pays dividends, because not only is our unassuming merchant’s son an archer of no small talent, but a painter of grand ambition to boot!”

Ignatz had turned a shade of crimson. “Please, my lord, I-”

“You’ll sit quiet and suffer my praise! Soil and SKY, Lysithea, this little so-and-so saw my noble aunt for maybe ten SECONDS, and a couple of weeks later I walk in on him slaving over the painting you now hold in your hands. It’s uncanny. I see things in it I haven’t seen in a lifetime of knowing the woman.”

Ignatz quavered. “My lord-”

“Ignatz, I will order the skin FLAYED from your BONES.”

“Sorry, my lord.”

“Oh, you WILL be. See, Lysithea, our two merchant’s sons here have presented me with a rather rocky problem over the past few years. Both have a great surplus of skill, but neither has the temperament of a proper knight. And so, they languish in my service as mere bodyguards. But! This wedding has the potential to change a great many things, among them my bodyguards’ standing in the peerage.”

Both Ignatz and Raphael perked up at this. 

“My lord… are you…?” Ignatz ventured.

“I am! Should you boys return from Adrestia with the greater part of your limbs intact AND with the august personage of Lysithea von Ordelia unharmed, you both will be awarded knighthoods within the Leicester Alliance. I, Claude von Reigan, guarantee it.”

There was a moment of silence at this. This silence was immediately broken by Raphael effortlessly scooping up Ignatz in his arms and swinging him around in a joyous hug. 

“Ignatz!! Did you hear that? We’re gonna be KNIGHTS, Ignatz!”

“I… yes! Yes, Raphael! I heard!! Put me down, please!”

“That’s right, boys.” Claude leaned forward from his seat on the bench, elbows on his knees. “Oh, only, I forgot one more condition.” He pointed at Ignatz. “You are to produce a painting of the wedding of Hubert von Vestra in as much detail as you deem necessary. The finished painting will be offered to the Empire as a gift upon the union. All and any sketches you produce will be relinquished to me at earliest convenience. Do I make myself clear?”

Ignatz, after being set down by Raphael, had turned a color beyond human reckoning. “My lord you- you want me to-”

“I want you to do the thing that you’ve proven yourself to be exceedingly good at, in front of an audience of hundreds of the most influential people in the Empire, creating a work that will hang in the halls of Fodlan’s most powerful nation until the end of time, guaranteeing you immortality, not to mention a title, lands, and household.” Claude paused for air. “I apologize if this is somehow unattractive to you.”

“N-no, my lord, I, um, it’s just, that, uh, I’m, uh, well, you see, ah, um, well, um…”

Claude gestured imperiously. “Terrific. Raphael? I’ve made an appointment for the two of you to be fitted for fresh Reigan livery before setting out for Enbarr tomorrow. It’s in twenty minutes. See that Ignatz doesn’t miss the appointment.”

Raphael beamed, barely missing a beat in scooping up his still-quavering friend under one arm. “As you say, milord!”

And with this, Raphael exited the dining hall at a jog, the still-protesting Ignatz struggling fruitlessly in his iron grip.

Claude sighed, turning back to Lysithea and Hilda. “Ugh. I hate using my grownup voice.”

Hilda giggled as Lysithea pursed her lips. “I take it they don’t know about the plan - or whatever it is we’re calling it?”

Claude shook his head. “Raphael’s simple - don’t make the mistake of thinking him stupid, but he’s a man of straight lines. And Ignatz is, well… you saw what Ignatz is like. I once saw him apologize to his own shadow. No, if I let them in on it they’d give it away before Byleth even had the ring on her finger.”

“Plus,” Hilda chimed in, “the less they know, the more likely they are to blunder into something they shouldn’t! And then you’ll REALLY get to see what’s going on!”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself. You’ve been snooping through my desk again, haven’t you?”

“How d’you think I found out about the party trick?” Hilda nudged Lysithea and winked. Lysithea half-managed to fight down a smile. 

“Mmm. Oh, Lysithea, before I forget,” Claude’s said, expression turning uncharacteristically serious, “if you ever suspect that your cover (such as it is) has been blown, or that you have any other reason to suspect yourself to be in immediate danger, you have my permission to respond with as much lethal, explosive force as you deem necessary and then flee the Empire by any means available to you.” He gave an apologetic little smile. “I wouldn’t recommend it, mind you - they know a thing or two about magic down there in Enbarr, after all. I’d much rather you return to us as a living font of information than a dead pretext for war.”

Lysithea set her chin to an imperious tilt. “Thank you for your concern. Don’t worry. I’ve got no intention of dying on an errand as ridiculous as this.”

“That’s the spirit! Now, I recommend that you return to your quarters and make whatever preparations you need for your departure tomorrow. The staff have been instructed to attend to your every request, so don’t hesitate to put them through their paces.”

She stood and gave a sardonic curtsey. “At your whim, my lord.”

Hilda gave her a friendly wave. “Bring me back something nice from the Empire!”

Lysithea favored her with a genuine smile. “For you and Marianne both. See you tomorrow.”

She strode from the room, doing her best to not betray how very badly her mind was reeling.

Watching her go, Claude blew a long breath out his nose. “How’re the odds, y’figure?”

“Well… spying’s never really been my THING, you know? But...” Hilda put an expertly-painted fingertip to her lips and thought for a moment. “...I think she’ll be just fine.”

“Oh, I KNOW she’ll come through. I meant, how’re the odds that there’s anything left of Enbarr still standing when she comes back?”

“Fifty-fifty.”

“Mm. How IS Marianne, by the way? You two set a date yet?”

“Oh, you know. We’re bickering about everything. She wants a church wedding, I want a beach wedding. I want summer, she says spring. We go round and round and round.”

“You’re going to give in eventually, aren’t you?”

“Oh, ABSOLUTELY.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Sorry that this is a week late but it's also twice as long as the first two chapters put together if that moves the needle for you
> 
> \- I just realized that I wrote Claude putting himself in absolutely-avoidable near-death situations to prove a point twice in as many chapters


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lysithea sets out on her semi-diplomatic mission to the Empire and encounters complications on the road. Raphael shares his insight.

\- Five days to the wedding -

Lysithea's journey began early the next morning with little fanfare – few words were exchanged as she climbed aboard a stately coach laden with expensive gifts that proudly bore the gold-and-mustard colors of the Leicester Alliance. Claude, Hilda, and Lorenz saw her off (that is to say, Claude and Hilda had come to see her off, and Lorenz had sprinted up at the last minute screaming about how he hadn't been consulted.) Raphael and Ignatz took up their positions in the coach box, Raphael twitched the reins and clicked his tongue, and the trio rumbled away. Claude waved until they were out of sight. 

The balmy, gentle hills of the Alliance's northern coast had given way to its endless orchards, vineyards, and farms – beautiful at first sight but quickly becoming interminable, particularly when viewed through the shuddering window of a carriage. Crossing the border at the Great Bridge of Myrddin provided an all-too-brief change in scenery, and then it was back to farm after farm after farm (Empire farms this time.)

Lysithea had never thought of herself as being particularly delicate, but it didn't take long for the days of travel in the bouncing, jolting carriage to wipe her brain clean of any thought save for how very badly she wanted to be in her own home, in her nice comfortable study, sleeping in her huge, soft bed and never seeing another stretch of farmland ever again in her entire life. 

And the INNS! The inns, Lysithea had decided, were the WORST. All she wanted when she climbed down from the coach at the end of the day (back aching, legs stiff as boards, rump unspeakable) was a bowl of reasonably-clean water to wash her face and a bowl of something hot and edible and a quiet room with a bed she could collapse into. But no! No, the innkeepers, upon learning they were hosting nobility, would without fail flap about and trip over themselves to prove how eminently accommodating they could be, offering her all manner of clumsy luxury and delicacy and generally making horrible nuisances of themselves until her head spun.

The end of the journey couldn't come fast enough, Lysithea decided. Yes, she might be exposed as a spy and jailed and tortured and killed, but at least she would die surrounded by people who knew how to be normal around nobles, for Sothis's sake.

It was in this state of mind that Lysithea found herself as the coach came to an unexpected halt some hours before she had expected to reach the next town. Looking out the window, all she could see was a steep, rocky ridge on either side of the carriage.

She rapped her knuckles against the coachbox. “Raphael? Is the road blocked?”

Raphael's voice boomed back, only slightly muffled by the coach walls. “Sort of, m'lady! There's a man.”

Lysithea felt her stomach start to sink. “A man.”

“He's not alone.”

“Of course he isn't.” Lysithea pinched the bridge of her nose. JUST what she needed on this miserable trip. “I'm coming out.”

“Right you are, m'lady.”

She descended the carriage steps and stood on muddy ground, taking a moment to stretch before turning to look down the road (she hadn't been killed yet, so why die stiff?) There was indeed a man – an armored man on horseback, roughly a hundred feet in front of them, flanked by a half-dozen lightly-armored infantrymen on foot. What's more, on either side of the ridge she saw several archers standing with bows strung and arrows nocked. None of them wore any colors she could identify.

She glanced up at driver's box where Ignatz and Raphael were sitting. “Any thoughts, you two?”

Ignatz merely shook his head, looking as though he might vomit. 

Raphael was looking thoughtful, however. “They look... hm.”

Lysithea waited. This kind of heavy-duty thinking was rare for Raphael.

He scratched his head. “They look... strong. Yeah. Pretty strong.”

She waited to see if he would follow this insight with anything, then sighed. Really, it was her own fault for getting her hopes up. “Thank you for that, Raphael. I'm going go see what they want. Mind the horses.” She turned and walked a little ways towards the (presumed) highwaymen.

The man on horseback walked his mount forward, one hand resting easily on the pommel of the sword at his hip. With a thumb, he flipped up the visor of his helmet, revealing a craggy face and a surprisingly lush mustache. “I expect you know what this is, my lady.”

Lysithea folded her arms, doing her best to appear unintimidated. “I can guess. I should inform you that I am a duly-appointed representative of the Leicester Alliance, here to observe the wedding of Lord Hubert von Vestra. Any harm to my person-”

He held up a mailed hand. “-will not come to pass, I assure you. We CAN be reasonable.” He tugged at his mustache thoughtfully. “It seems to me that Lord von Vestra will be awash in gifts on his happy day. A carriage-load gone missing will not cause much comment.”

Her index finger tapped rapidly against her upper arm. “Are we to WALK to Enbarr?”

He chuckled. “Didn't I say we could be reasonable? Unhitch the horses and ride. The carriage and its contents shall suffice. Give our blessings to the bride and groom.” This prompted general amusement in the ranks behind him.

She chewed the inside of her cheek, finger still tapping. As far as highway robbery went, it was as good a deal as you could hope for. Yes, losing the gifts and the carriage would be a pain, and being forced to ride horseback the rest of the way held no appeal, but would leave the three of them with their lives intact to carry out the mission. Played correctly, their misfortune could even garner much-needed sympathy among Edelgard and her court. 

And yet... 

...and yet, something was off. She thought again about what Raphael had said. 'They look strong.'

Time to play a hunch.

“You have courtly manners, for a bandit.”

The armored brigand bowed in his saddle. “My lady flatters me.”

“And I must compliment your tactical deployment. Six pikemen to cover the exit of the pass, archers in elevated vantage points, all arranged to prevent any possibility of escape or resistance. The instructors at Garreg Mach would give you full marks.”

The mustache twitched. She noted that the tips had been waxed. “Perhaps I should apply to teach there some day. It pains me to point out that my lady appears to be stalling.”

“Not stalling, merely... observing. Observing, for instance, that such a precise, effective deployment, would be impossible without at least one of three things. Well, four, but I think we can set 'luck' aside for the time being.”

Was the mood getting chillier? “The window for my generous offer is closing, my lady.”

Ignatz piped up from the carriage. “Um, m'lady, maybe we should-”

She ignored them both. “One: you frequently exploit this pass to ambush wealthy prey. While possible, it seems unlikely. You have at least a dozen mouths to feed, equip, and conceal from the authorities. Affixing yourselves to a well-traveled pass and waylaying influential citizens would earn you swift reprisal from the army, who are always so very eager to hunt bandits.

“Two: you have scouts who alerted you to our impending arrival. Again, possible, but unlikely. Yes, we do HAPPEN to be heavily-laden with a small fortune in wedding gifts, but to all outward appearances this is a simple diplomatic envoy. A scout would need a keen eye indeed to mark us as worth the trouble of waylaying.

“Three-”

She paused here, for effect (groaning inwardly as she caught herself doing it. Claude really did rub off on people, it seemed.)

“-you had foreknowledge of our arrival.”

A long moment of silence passed between the mounted man and the small woman, regarding each other upon the muddy road.

The mustache twitched again. “And where would we acquire such foreknowledge?”

Lysithea fought down the urge to smile. “Where, indeed?” 

The armored man fussed with his reins a moment, then grimaced and flipped his visor back down.

“You have my offer, my lady. It will expire in three minutes. There will be no further discussion.”

With that, he turned his mount and walked back to his men, who had been fidgeting with their weapons. Lysithea stood where she was, arms still crossed. Raphael had been right. The men on the road might have a bit of grime smeared here and there, but all looked to be well-fed and in good health, and their weaponry was all pristine. The commander's horse and armor both looked shiny and well cared-for. And that ridiculous waxed mustache!

Raphael had been RIGHT.

That was it, then. A fairly tasteless roundabout Empire ploy to embarrass the Alliance by snatching their gifts and forcing their envoy to ride into Enbarr with little more than the clothes on her back. She didn't envy the man, whoever he was – likely a knight in some minor noble's court – he had likely been given very specific instructions not to utter any explicit threats, merely to make use of her own timidity and pragmatism. There was a certain bareknuckled elegance to it, she had to admit.

All she had to do was turn around, retake her seat within the carriage, and tell Raphael to carry on. The pikemen blocking the path would part meekly, and that would be that. Alliance 1, Empire 0.

She turned.

She stopped.

Why stop there, though?

Would Claude stop at simply getting one up on the Empire?

Or would he push his advantage for all it was worth?

Hmm.

She walked back to the carriage and pulled herself up to the box, where Raphael and Ignatz watched her expectantly (and a little bit warily.)

She smiled at them. “Here's the good news. These idiots are Empire soldiers. They won't touch us, they're just meant to spook us into giving away our cargo.”

Raphael visibly relaxed and beamed at her. “Wow! I never would have noticed that!” There was no hint of condescension in his voice whatsoever.

Ignatz was sweating. But then, he was often sweating.

Lysithea's smile widened. “Here's the better news. We're going to EMBARRASS them.”

Ignatz gave her a sickly grin. “That's good news? M'lady?”

She felt her smile curdle as she turned to regard the green-haired archer. “I'm sorry, Ignatz. Is that bow only good for shooting COOKIES?”

“Ah, um, no, but-”

“Then string it up and wait for my move. I'm going to scorch the ridge. You're both Academy boys, you know how to screen for a caster, yes? Ignatz, when the flames die, you plug the archers. Flesh wounds only. Same goes for you, big man, only I want you to make tracks for the pikemen the moment you hear the flames go up. Break their pikes, break their jaws, but NO fatalities. Am I clear?”

The output of Raphael's beam had only intensified as she spoke. Ignatz still looked as sickly green as his hair, but he had swiftly strung his bow as she had instructed.

“Good. Then... on my mark...”

*****************************************************************************************************

The town of Little Ludwigstadt was, on most days, an ideal posting for a soldier like Captain Ruprecht Schubert - both were small, both were unimportant, both demanded little of the world and received less in return. Schubert, having long served Adrestia’s grand army without distinction, had ambled into captaincy when the previous commander of Little Ludwigstadt’s meager garrison had choked to death on a radish. He found that the speed of this little trading post suited him nicely. It was small enough that the ladies made appreciative noises towards a man in a smart uniform, but with enough traffic down the main trade road that one could count on a steady supply of gossip from all over the Empire.

Things had been uncommonly exciting in his sleepy little posting over the past few days, however. 

First, there had been Commander Braughms' detachment arriving unannounced just a couple days ago. 'Training manuevers in the hills' was all that Schubert could get out of Braughms on the matter, and though Schubert had thought it odd that the men in the detachment were playing war games without official Empire colors he'd known better than to push the issue.

Then had come the Alliance noble and her bodyguards. Terribly bossy, she'd been. And her dress in such a state! Sleeves singed, hem muddy, shoes a complete write-off. And the little poet or clerk or whatever he was, looking like he might dry up and blow away at a moment's notice. At least the big man at the reins had looked the part. All in all, Schubert had been more than happy to give her traveling papers an official once-over, poke through her coach's cargo (some lovely things in there), and send her on her way. Schubert might not have been the savviest man, but he knew his measure, and the vast, murky province of 'politics' was far beyond it.

And now here approached Commander Braughms again, looking far less crisp and correct than he'd been upon setting out.

“Ho there, Braughms!” Schubert cried, giving him a friendly wave. “My word, those maneuvers must have been dreadful – you look a fright!”

Braughms did not smile, nor should he have, for doing so would have thoroughly upset his swollen eye and jaw. The rest of his detatchment was in similarly grim humor, nursing various superficial burns, cuts, bruises, and punctures. Their weapons: shattered. Their armor: dented and shredded. Several were hobbling along, supporting themselves with broken pike shafts. To Schubert's eye, the looked more like a pack of beggars than soldiers of the Empire.

“Captain.” Braughms slurred through gritted teeth. Schubert noticed that half of the commander's impressive mustache had been scorched off. “I will require the use of a messenger bird.

“And some ice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Braughms should count his blessings. In my first pass at this chapter, I was intending to have him & his men just be regular old bandits that Lysithea et al could just kill outright in a big kickass fight scene. But as I wrote I decided that felt a little mean-spirited & not keeping with the tone I'd set over the past few chapters, and so Braughms gets to live. Lucky him!
> 
> \- My pace feels absolutely glacial compared to Pleasant_Boy, who has already reached their first raunchy-ass sex scene in the fic that inspired this one. I promise that I'll at least catch up to the START of that fic in two chapters. Promise
> 
> \- Happy holidays everyone


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petty revenge is obtained, bonbons are consumed, hidden talents are revealed, and a letter is written.

\- Two days to the wedding -

  
Lysithea stepped down from her carriage and arched her back, wincing at every audible crack the stretch produced. It was late in the afternoon in Enbarr, and their progress through the crowded city streets had been absolutely glacial. Lysithea idly wondered if the crowds were typical for the capital of Fódlan's most powerful nation, or if Lord von Vestra's wedding had attracted the well-wishers in droves. By all reports, the Minister of Household Affairs was hardly beloved by the Adrestian populace, but this WAS the closest thing the people had had to a royal wedding in decades. An excuse to celebrate is, after all, an excuse to celebrate.

  
The carriage had stopped at the steps of the palace, which, Lysithea had to admit, was an impressive piece of architecture. No, 'impressive' was wrong – IMPOSING fit much better. The building was massive (Lysithea had heard it sprawled over nearly a fifth of all Enbarr, and employed nearly a thousand of its citizens) and, for all of its delicate ornamentation, looked as though it could weather a siege. And probably had done, Lysithea thought.

  
She presented her credentials to the footman who bustled up and allowed herself to be led inside, enduring the footman's fawning attentions every step of the way. Raphael and Ignatz trailed behind – the carriage would be well looked-after by the palace guard (and likely rifled through by the Adrestian intelligence corps, for all the good it would do them.)

  
They were taken through a series of corridors into a comfortably-appointed sitting room, where the unctuous footman took his leave. Lysithea collapsed onto a plush leather sofa and took in her surroundings.

  
Or tried to, at least. The very first thing she noticed was a pyramid of chocolate bonbons towering artfully in front of her on the rich, dark wood of the coffee table. She was vaguely aware that the room possessed other furnishings (a large desk made of some heavy wood, stacked high with papers – a small bookcase packed with well-thumbed novellas – a floor-length mirror). However, she was MOST acutely aware that she hadn't eaten since breakfast.

  
Raphael nudged his partner as they took positions standing behind Lysithea. “Hey, Ignatz, look! Paintings!”

  
Ignatz followed Raphael's gaze and spotted several small pieces hanging in simple frames over a well-stocked liquor cart. His face broke into a rare unselfconscious smile. “Oh my! Yes! Those are... yes, Ambrosius! His still-lifes of floral bouquets were VERY popular in Derdriu about 300 years ago, you know. These must have cost a FORTUNE.”

  
Raphael beamed. “How d'you like that! Someone here in the Empire must really like Alliance painters! Good news for you, Ignatz.”

  
Ignatz fought down a pleased blush. “Well, I mean, Ambrosius was TECHNICALLY a citizen of the Holy Kingdom for most of his life. The Alliance didn't break off until 901, remember?”

  
“Really? Sheesh, I shoulda paid more attention in our history lectures back at the Academy.”

  
“They didn't talk about painters much. It was mostly kings and battles and treaties and things like that. I learned about painters from books I found in the library in our free time.”

“That's right, you did! Didn't Tomas cuss you out for sneaking in after hours once?”

  
“More than once. It didn't stop me, though. I just got better at sneaking.”

  
“You're so cool, Ignatz. I'm glad we're friends.”

  
“Aw, Raphael! I'm glad we're friends too. Uh, can I offer m'lady a kerchief?”

  
Lysithea accepted the proffered cloth wordlessly and wiped chocolate from her lips. The bonbons (now over half gone) had been filled with some kind of orange liqueur and she was already starting to feel a bit tipsy.

  
Just as she was handing Ignatz back his kerchief, the door swung open to admit a tall, prim woman of middle years. Her pale red hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and on her nose sat a pair of spectacles. In one arm she clutched a sheaf of documents. “Ah! Lady von Ordelia, I do apologize for the wait. Things have been, well, with the wedding, you can only imagine.” She hurried over to the desk and shoved the documents she had been carrying into a free space before addressing Lysithea again. “I am Valissima von Ochs, secretary to Prime Minister von Aegir. Please allow me to be the first to formally welcome you to the Adrestian Empire, Lady von Ordelia.”

  
Lysithea inclined her head in what she hoped was a suitably gracious acknowledgement of the greeting. She further hoped that her day-drunk flush wasn't too obvious. “I don't mean to be rude, but is the reception of foreign dignitaries customary for secretaries in the Empire?”

Valissima's lips pulled into a thin smile as she laced her fingers on the desk. “Normally it would be the Prime Minister himself extending you these greetings, but Lord von Aegir is currently on a diplomatic mission to the Holy Kingdom & will not return until several days after the ceremony. I have been doing my humble best to fulfill the duties of his office until his return.”

Lysithea saw the frazzled exhaustion in the older woman's eyes. “You have my sympathies, madam secretary.”

  
The secretary sighed. “Thank you, my lady. This wedding has been quite a... rapid affair, shall we say? It's all I can do to stay afloat most days.”

  
Rapid, huh? Very interesting, chimed in a small, sober voice in Lysithea's brain.

  
“I must also apologize profusely, my lady,” Valissima was continuing.

  
“Apologize? Whatever for?”

  
“The Adrestian Empire prides itself on the safety and security of the Imperial Highway. We were all simply SHOCKED to learn of your troubles on the way here.”

  
And just like that, the brief, fluttering flame of Lysithea's sympathy for Valissima was snuffed out.

  
Lysithea remembered the infuriatingly sunny way that Claude had smiled at her when she had come upon him in the garden maze, and did her very best to emulate it. “Troubles? Hardly. Really, Valissima, it was just a bit of exercise for me and the boys. A break from the monotony of the road.”

  
There was a beat before Valissima gave a slightly queasy smile in return. “Is that so?” She shuffled papers aimlessly on the desk, clearly adjusting her mental script. “Well, nevertheless, we remain TERRIBLY sorry and wish to extend to you every comfort during your stay here.”

  
The same small, sober voice whispered again: they're embarrassed and feeling conciliatory. Squeeze them for it.

“Well, since you mention it, there were a FEW small things I thought of on the trip here...”

  
“I can promise my lady to do anything in my power to meet your every need.”

  
Lysithea gave her another sunny smile. “Wonderful. My staff and I will need a suite of rooms, for starters.”

  
“Easily done. We have several luxurious-”

  
“Actually, something a bit rougher would be more to my liking. You see, I like to dabble in magical and alchemic experimentation as a hobby, so a suite with stone floors and no great abundance of irreplaceable art objects would be much preferred. Further, Master Victor here-”

  
She waved a hand to indicate Ignatz.

  
“-shall require a room with plentiful natural light for his work, and Master Kirsten-”

  
A wave to Raphael.

  
“-would enjoy easy access to both a training yard and your kitchens. For myself, proximity to your libraries would be favorite, as well as a balcony. It should go without saying that whatever workroom you can procure for my own dabblings should have a sturdy door and excellent ventilation.”

  
Valissima had begun furiously scribbling notes. Lysithea waited for her to catch up. “Lastly, I shall require an assortment of alchemical glassware, a decent stock of reagents, and a generous supply of parchment and ink. I can prepare a detailed list for your staff, if you'd like.”

  
Valissima wilted. “That would be... most helpful, my lady.” She rose somewhat shakily, clutching the scribbled notes in one hand. “Please wait here while I inform the palace staff of your... needs. Things are a little crowded here, obviously, but we shall make every effort to accommodate you.”

  
“Oh, I'm certain you will!” Lysithea maintained the luminous smile at full strength until the door had fully closed behind Valissima, at which point she allowed it to slough off. It made her cheeks hurt, smiling that much.

  
“That was really nice of you, m'lady! Rooms all to ourselves AND my own personal training yard? Wow!” Raphael was jubilant.

  
“You're welcome, Raphael. I wasn't doing it entirely to be nice, but you're welcome all the same.”

  
“Sorry, m'lady?”

  
She popped another bonbon in her mouth before answering. “It's petty, but I figure it's fair play after what they tried to pull on the road. We're less than 48 hours away from one of the most politically important marriages in living memory. This palace might be big, but it's also got to be packed to the gills with visiting dignitaries and local nobles who want to stay on the Emperor's good side. Putting together a suite of rooms with a list of requirements THAT long is certain to be-”

  
-she swallowed the bonbon-

  
“-nightmarish.”

  
“Not to mention, it makes us look powerful and important to the other attendees.” Ignatz chimed in. “M'lady, I don't want to be pessimistic...”

  
“It hasn't stopped you before. Speak your mind.”

  
“We're supposed to stay here until I finish my painting. Even working at full speed with no distractions, it could take months. Is it wise to antagonize our hosts so early?”

  
“We'll likely face some repercussions, yes,” said Lysithea, trying to ignore the way her stomach dropped when Ignatz had said 'months'. Did paintings really take THAT long? “But think of it like this: they've already tried to bully and embarrass us once. Now they've learned that there's a cost to such provocations, they've learned that we can bite back. You can't give ground to a bully, Ignatz, because if you do they'll take and take and take until you have nothing left.”

  
They spent the next few minutes in thoughtful silence until Valissima re-entered, looking frazzled but triumphant.

  
“Apologies for the wait, my lady! If you'll follow me...”

  
Valissima led the three of them through another series of richly-decorated corridors to their rooms, which Lysithea had to admit met her demands perfectly. Strong, unadorned stone floors, interconnected bedrooms, a small private room with large windows where Ignatz could work in peace, and even a balcony that overlooked Enbarr's merchant quarter. Lysithea found herself wishing she'd thrown in even more ludicrous requirements, just to see how well Valissima could field them.

  
“...and should Master Victor desire the inspiration of the natural world for his work, there is a small garden through here,” Valissima was saying, clearly in her element, “and THIS hallway will take you to a private training ground. Oh, one small caveat with the training ground, Master Kirsten – if you could limit your training sessions to the early morning, we would be EVER so grateful.”

  
Raphael clicked his heels and gave a sharp bow. “Of course!”

  
Valissima turned to Lysithea. “If there is nothing further, my lady, I shall take my leave. The Dagdan delegation have suddenly found themselves in need of new lodgings, which I must see to personally. A footman will come by shortly to collect the list of glassware and reagents you will require.” Without another word, she swept from the room.

  
Lysithea began unpacking her luggage (having helpfully been transported from the carriage by the palace staff, showing very few signs of having been rifled through) and was halfway through laying out her clothes before something occurred to her.

  
“Oh, piss.” She smacked her forehead.

  
Raphael paused while carrying (without any apparent effort) several crates filled with wedding gifts. “M'lady?”

  
“I just realized – I have nobody to help me dress for the wedding! My usual lady's maid is a thousand miles away! Augh, I should have thought of SOMETHING on the way here, but, well...” She wrung her hands. “Hell. I'll have to ask Valissima if she can spare somebody.”

  
Raphael laughed, startling her. “Is that all? Don't you worry, m'lady! I can help with all that!”

  
Lysithea looked at him, towering in the doorframe, all thick fingers and bulging muscle. “You'll. Help?”

  
“Sure!” He set down the crates. “See, Claude mentioned that I came from a merchant family, right? But my parents died when I was young, and my little sister, she was even younger. I had to look after her, and that meant dressing her, and doing her hair, and everything else. We might not have had the money for expensive dresses like what you're gonna wear to the wedding, but trust me, if you need help with knots or ribbons or pins or clasps or buttons or anything, I'm your man!” He looked her over appraisingly. “She's got long, pretty hair, just like yours, too.”

  
Lysithea took a long few moments processing this torrent of information. “I... see. Well. If you're sure it wouldn't be an imposition...”

  
“Not at all! And Ignatz can help, too!”

  
She cocked her head. “He can?”

  
“Sure he can! My little sis used to make him do her makeup - I bet that's half the reason he's as good at painting as he is today!”  
Ignatz slunk into the room, blushing. “It's true, m'lady. Ever since she was seven.”

  
She stared at them both for a second before bursting into helpless laughter. “Of course! Fine. Having lady's maids like the two of you isn't any more ridiculous than anything ELSE about this situation.” She waved them away. “That's settled, then. Go on, finish settling in.”

  
They left, Raphael beaming, Ignatz still blushing.

  
Lysithea sighed and returned to her own unpacking.

  
It was later. The footman had come and gone, leaving assurances that her requested glassware, reagents, and other sundries would be delivered the next morning. Raphael and Ignatz had gone out to familiarize themselves with the palace. Lysithea, now alone in their suite, carefully drew the curtains and checked to make sure the door was locked before sitting at a small writing table to compose a short letter.

  
In it, she gave a concise description of their trouble with the 'bandits', their reception at the palace, and a few other scattered observations. At the end she carefully drew her personal sigil.

  
As she waited for the ink to dry, she reached into a trunk and retrieved her sole piece of 'spy equipment'.

  
_Claude had given it to her the morning she had left._

_  
It was a skinny tube made of stiff leather with a thin strap running through it, the kind a courier would use to keep important documents safe and dry on the road. An absolutely unremarkable object to find within the luggage of a diplomatic envoy._

_  
“Essentially it's a very compact, very specialized teleporter,” Claude had said. “Don't look so surprised. You aren't the ONLY mage doing theoretical work in the Alliance._

_  
“Here's how it works. Put whatever you want to send inside and close the lid tightly. Then press here, then here, then here twice, then here again, and then shake it three times. The contents will be zapped from this one to its sister, which happens to be sitting in one of my desk drawers.”  
Lysithea had been floored. “That's... incredible.”_

_  
“Isn't it? Messengers can be bribed, or killed. Birds are better, but you can still shoot them down and you can't exactly carry them discretely. This little beauty is absolutely instantaneous and secure. We figure the other nations are ten years out from anything like this, at LEAST. It's going to revolutionize our communications once we figure out how to get the costs down – I could have paid for a whole battalion of heavy cavalry for what it cost to put this one little tube together.” He'd paused significantly. “We'd like it back in one piece, if possible.”_

_  
Lysithea had nodded._

_  
“Keep it out of the way, but not obviously hidden. It's just another piece of luggage. Use it to send me Ignatz's sketches, and whatever other reports you deem necessary. I will not send you anything back unless you specifically request it. And don't put anything living in there. Trust me, just... just don't.”_

_  
And then it had been time to leave_

_._  
The ink had dried. She rolled up the parchment, slipped it into the tube, and closed the cap. She then pressed there, then there, then there twice, then there again, and shook it three times. Holding her breath, she reopened the cap. The parchment was gone. She released her breath.

  
Months of this! Sothis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I'm back! Sorry about the wait, over the holidays I wound up doing a shitload of writing work on a different large-scale project and it took me a while to recalibrate back into Fire Emblem Mode
> 
> \- When Pleasant_Boy updates the fic this one is based off of, it's always with a mixture of tension and danger and sex and violence. When I update, you get wrangling over lodging assignments. This is the way of the world
> 
> \- Lysithea said piss
> 
> \- Claude invented the Fodlan equivalent of the DM
> 
> \- Next chapter: the wedding! I'll finally have caught up with the very beginning of 'Til Your Death Do Us Part! I have a LOT of fun scenes planned for when my stuff intersects with Pleasant_Boy's


End file.
